Mending Promises
by Sandclaw
Summary: It's never easy to look into your past. But sometimes, a simple seating arrangement can be enough to make you have to fix everything that's been broken. USUK, country and human names used.


"**I'll never be able to take it back.."**

Alfred sat alone in the melancholy darkness of his storage room, fumbling with the old musket. He ran his fingers along the fine scratch drawn in the wood and sighed.

He always came down here when he was sad. It was the best way to escape the present, but it certainly didn't help with the past. He propped the gun up on his knee and stared at it, apprehensive of the memory that always came rushing back to him.

* * *

"_Hey, Britain! All I want... is my freedom!" America's call rang from one side of the battlefield to the other as he pointed his musket in the direction Arthur. His eyes were narrowed with anger and pain as he continued. "I'm no longer a child. Nor your little brother. From now on, consider me.. independent!"_

_The younger nation glared across at Britain. The rain was the only thing hiding the tears that were running down the side of his face._

_They both remained silent for a moment, their gazes never faltering. Finally, the latter shifted, took a step forward, and then broke into a run. He had the musket pointed straight forward as he charged, breathing heavily. "No!"_

_The gun's bayonet collided with the wooden hilt of the American's own. Alfred's gun flew out of his hands, landing on the rain-soaked earth several yards away. The sapphire-eyed nation's attention was drawn back to Arthur, who had the spear-pointed weapon inches away from him face. His breathing was pained and uneven as he spoke again. "I won't allow it. Y- You idiot! Why can't you follow anything through to the end?"_

_There was a clattering noise in the background as an American soldier shouted, "Ready, aim..!" The entire colonial army had their guns pointed at Arthur, but no one fired. America stood still, unmoving, staring at the bayonet with huge eyes. His heart was beating so fast that it hurt._

_Arthur drew the gun away, breathing raggedly as he glared at his former charge. Alfred looked up, obviously confused as to why the Brit hadn't shot him. Their eyes met._

_And God, he wish they hadn't._

_Though his expression was neutral, (Pained, but still rather normal) his emerald-colored eyes betrayed the hurt and confusion he was facing at the moment. Alfred was drawn into them, lost in the painful torrent that was in his brother's expression._

"_There's no way I could shoot you," Arthur's words drew the American out of his reverie. "I can't."_

_The musket fell to the ground, Arthur following close behind. The sandy-haired man collapsed, landing on his knees, covering his face with his hand._

"_W- Why?" he stammered, and it became all too obvious that he was crying. "Damn it, why! It's not fair.."_

_Alfred had never seen his brother cry before._

"_You know why." The blonde responded flatly, shaking. Images of the past flickered in his mind, threatening to crush his resolve. He felt more tears prick the corner of his eyes._

"_What happened?" he asked, staring down at the crying man in front of him. "I remember when you were great."_

_Oh God. It hurt so much._

_

* * *

_

As he sat in the darkness, leaning over the gun with tears flowing steadily from his eyes, he kept thinking the same thing over and over again.

"**I never told you how much I appreciated what you did for me. We fight too much for you to even care, now. But I love you, Arthur.."**

A knock at the door startled him, making him look up. Quickly realizing his predicament, Alfred wiped his face thoroughly and placed the musket back in the old box. "Yeah? What is it?" he called, walking over to the door and pulling it open. His boss was standing there, looking nothing if not a bit concerned.

"You need to get going for the meeting-" he began, but was interrupted by an alarmed gasp from Alfred.

"Crap! I forgot!" Ignoring whatever else his boss was about to say, the American ran out the door, down the hall, out of the house, and drove to the airport.

All in a good five minutes. He'd gotten good at rushing to do stuff.

* * *

_Why me?_

Germany had just finished assigning them seats, seeing as everybody was sick of accidentally ending up next to France.

But, now somebody was stuck next to France in every meeting from there on out.

"What?" Alfred shrieked, staring at Germany incredulously. The blonde glared back at the American, unfazed.

"Is there an issue?" he growled, straightening up in his seat.

"_Yes_, there's an issue! What gave you the idea to put me between Iggy and Francypants?"

Both men in question turned to glare at Alfred. Arthur knitted his eyebrows in frustration, while Francis just chuckled wryly.

"Maybe it will give you the opportunity to fix what's been broken." Ludwig growled. Alfred flinched noticeably.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Arthur asked, narrowing his eyes. He placed the tea he was drinking down on the table, crossing his arms.

"Nevermind that. Let's just go on with the meeting," Alfred said suddenly, sitting down in his seat. He shifted uncomfortably, scooting his chair a safe distance away from Francis. It was only then did he realize that he was now that much closer to Arthur.

"Yes... Let us also keep our personal space, you git." The green-eyed man growled, pushing the American's chair back.

Alfred froze.

This was going to be a long meeting.


End file.
